


Love is Blind (Seeing Eye Snake)

by Bfly1225



Category: Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: Aziraphale also as anxiety, Aziraphale knew Angel! Crowley and this ISNT PART OF THE STORY BUT I LIKE THE HEADCANON OKAY, Blind! Aziraphale, Crowley has anxiety, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Mild gore i guess but it's like. Two sentances, Raphael! Crowley, eventually that is, good omens - Freeform, i wrote most of this in a sleep-deprived haze, ineffable husbands, kinda sad at first but i promise it gets soft, snake! crowley
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-06-25
Updated: 2019-08-23
Packaged: 2020-05-19 17:50:25
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 10,811
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19361716
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Bfly1225/pseuds/Bfly1225
Summary: Had Aziraphale, for a second, had any brain power to spare, he’d have been entirely furious with himself. Though one doesn’t have much brain power to spare when all of it is being used to wallow in despair, this is a thought worth sharing.ALSO KNOWN ASAziraphale meets an unfortunate accident in which he is rendered blind, but he is terrified of Crowley seeing the result, and hides from him instead.





	1. Slip-ups and Slipping Away

**Author's Note:**

> This idea is in part dedicated to retrouvel on tumblr who inspired me actually write for Good Omens with their amazing art and their AMAZING headcanons. They exposed me to the Raphael!Crowley thing and HOLY SHIT I LOVE IT. Like really. So much. Go check them out, they've got a comic for it and everything.

Had Aziraphale, for a second, had any brain power to spare, he’d have been entirely furious with himself. Though one doesn’t have much brain power to spare when all of it is being used to wallow in despair, this is a thought worth sharing. 

Around a day prior to this moment, Aziraphale had been fine. Normal, middle-of-the-road, perhaps a bit better, even, having purchased tickets to a movie rerun of one of Crowley’s old favorites, and having a sense of thrilling happiness that one has when buying a fun gift for someone very close to them. So maybe he was a little distracted, staring at the tickets in his hand and walking past a construction site. Not much could have predicted this accident other than Agnes Nutter, but her second volume of prophecies (not so nice, in this particular instance) lay scattered in ashes somewhere in a meadow outside of Tadfield, where a young witch and witch-finder had chosen their fate together. The other thing that might have predicted this accident might’ve been a little good luck and common sense not to stare downwards while passing a building being worked on. 

It turns out that, at the time of Aziraphale passing by, there was somewhat of a fight going on. Nothing more than a play fight over a lunch, but it was still just enough of a fight to catch his attention, the raised voices and chants of the surrounding crew members. The man pushing the other at the time was unaware of many things, just the same as the angel on the street. His own strength being one of the more critical ones, and the other being a set of tools laying right in front of the window. These simple issues compacted created quite the problem. 

The series of events went somewhat like this: Aziraphale looked up to the third story window, hearing a disturbance. At the same time, the much larger of the construction workers playfully shoved the smaller towards the window. The shoved construction worker stumbled backwards, tripped over the bag of tools, and went tumbling out of the window, trying and failing to catch the windowsill on his way and missing the hands of his friends and coworkers on the way. Aziraphale, hardly having looked up to the correct window to see this, barely had the thought in his head to do a miracle to save this man, and only moved to try and catch him despite the shower of glass shards that were raining down. Looking up to position himself, and not wearing any kind of eye protection, was nearly asking for trouble, though he was looking only for good. 

Aziraphale had rarely experienced physical pain in the six thousand years he’d dwelled on the earth. Stubbed toes, hangnails, scrapes bruises from tables he didn’t remember being so far out into his path- sure, those were natural. But never a broken bone, disease, or major health problem. Hell- or Heaven-, barely even a thread out of place on his jacket. He’d only discorperated once! 

So this was literally the worst pain imaginable to Aziraphale, even if he had little to compare it to. It was hardly comparable to anything. It was like, well, it was like getting stabbed in the eyes. Aziraphale saw blue, then he saw red, and then he saw black. 

 

Aziraphale, to his chagrin, woke up in a human hospital. He knew because he could feel the sorrow that always came with death or injury, which was the entire reason he preferred if all possible to leave it. But for some reason, he felt like he couldn’t open his eyes, which would have given him his initial clues as to where he was. With gentle hands, he traced his face until he came up to his cheeks, and then a bit higher, and then he felt a thick layer of gauze. 

“Oh, dear.” He muttered fretfully, because what else would he do if not that? It took him a few moments of trying very hard to push past the mental cobwebs that had taken a strong hold in his brain from whatever pain-numbing drug had been put into him, but dread had gotten a headstart on understanding. Remembering the man, Aziraphale decided to worry about him rather than his own situation. What mattered was that he wasn’t discorperated, and he wouldn’t have to inhabit anybody or try to be issued a new body by heaven, who were most likely terrified or disgusted by him, but most likely a thick layer of both. It was always easier to worry about others than to worry about oneself, and worrying about others was something that Aziraphale did rather well and rather often. So he had half a mind to go and ask about him, but. . .

The issue presented itself in his lack of vision. How on earth was he supposed to know if there was a nurse nearby or if he were talking to thin air? 

He didn’t know. So he decided to sulk for a bit until someone showed up. 

 

Unfortunately, this took less time than Aziraphale was thinking. Soon enough, he heard the unmistakable sounds of Crowley being grumpy in the close distance. 

“-why can’t you just tell me what happened to the bloody idiot, he is my- well it’s complicated, he’s kind of a-a-errr, long-time friend situation type thing-” Crowley was grumbling to a nurse. Aziraphale smiled for a moment imagining his friend, head ducked down but hips turning him into a human pendulum in an attempt to look confident, along with the shades and talking anf the glowering.

“Sir, I do believe you may want to see this for yourself. The patient might be in emotional distress. . .” The nurse sighed, tired from being awake too late the previous night for no good reason. 

“Emotional distresssss, shmotional. . . shistress. It’s fine, he’s fine, just let me sign the papers or whatnot so he can leave. This place smells like old people and soap, I’m sure he hates it.” 

This posed a problem to Aziraphale, who was now looking a few shades whiter than normal. He’d done a good job of appearing somewhat indestructable to his demonic partner in crime, only having discorporated once and having immediately found his way home. Now, He was stuck in a room with hardly a way out (he’d have to pull off a few miracles) and no eyesight, only a deep swirling darkness and the noise of the surrounding area amplified to a near-deafening affair. He was afraid, now, that Crowley may now see him for what he was: a pathetic excuse for an angel who’d gone soft and NOW was missing one of the most IMPORTANT senses he carried other than taste. It was a travesty. He had to hide. 

So, having come to this conclusion and try hard not to cry as tears might hurt (he imagined hardly-healed surgery scars would heal poorly with holy water leaking into them), he snapped his fingers, the hospital gown leaving his body and being replaced with his normal attire. This alone was an immediate improvement to his mood (Nowhere to go but up is a powerful and lonely place to be), though he could hear Crowley’s very deliberately loud footsteps fast approaching. 

Aziraphale panicked and made one more miracle, one making him but a feather on the wind that escaped through the window due to a breeze. He floated with purpose over London to his bookshop, where his feather-person slipped under the threshold and back into a person. He sighed in relief, even though he was starting to feel dizzy from exertion, and fumbled for his keys for a moment. He sighed and gave up after only seconds of frantic pocket patting. He truly shouldn’t have tried to transport himself after being pumped full of human drugs, but he was just. . . so tired and afraid and oh god, with those thoughts, the emotions came rushing down on him despite his best efforts. 

This current vessel was his only human body he’d ever have anymore, and he’d- well, he’d ruined it, to put it entirely plainly. He felt his way to the closest piece of furniture- a cozy little bench-sofa that looked antique because it was, in fact, practically a relic- and sat on it with what was usually a comical thudding noise. He put his head in his hands, though he immediately wished he’d chosen a different course of action as he touched the gauze about where his eyes were meant to be and they still hurt a little too much to ignore. 

“I won’t cry.” He choked out. He wasn’t usually in the habit of talking to himself, but he’d be a damned liar if words didn’t comfort him so completely. That was why he built himself a home of carefully picked literature and the pleasant smell of old books and smiles at every new face that so much as peaked in the window at the old gold-leafed books lined up on the windowsill. Words had always been somewhat of the way to his heart, and, in some cases, directly out of it. “I absolutely won’t. I am a strong, ethereal being. Small inconveniences-” He choked once more on the fact that this was NOT a SMALL inconvenience- “Small inconveniences like this won’t set me back. I’m still myself. It’ll just take a bit of getting used to.” With these lies out of his mouth and the acknowledgement that he was being a filthy liar pushed somewhere deep down inside him, he stood up slowly, gathered a breath, and. . .

Let out a rather pathetic moan as he realized he would never read a book quite correct again, or see the faces of the humans, or The Them, or Crowley. He would never watch the ducks and feed them to smile at the way all living creatures existed together in a perfect harmony, and he should most definitely not be allowed to cook anything, let alone boil water for tea and hot cocoa ever again. The last was already rather applicable- There was a reason he risked a potential beheading for decent crepes- however, this did nothing to improve the mood he was in. Suddenly being surrounded by books was so bittersweet instead of the warm feeling you get from it smelling like home, or the deep and fond nostalgia one gets from a certain smell. The entire shop still smelled undeniably of home, but right now home felt wrong. He was itching under his skin to find somewhere else to be, but he feared if he were to wander out, he’d be hurt or trapped or, worse, spotted by Crowley.

Though one in a regular state of mind looking in at this situation from the outside like, as an example, they were reading it as a series of events in one of the very books Aziraphale itched to get away from might point out that Crowley would look in Aziraphale’s home for the angel first, it is important to remember that Aziraphale is not feeling his best in this moment. Aziraphale is under unknown effects from medicine not meant for him, under the emotional effects of losing a key sense, and getting used to feeling his way around with just his hands so that he didn’t trip or knock something over. Rock bottom was, and never will be, a good excuse for untidy behaviors. 

Aziraphale, with the tears threatening to fall rapidly from his eyes and very little patience for anything, began gently working his way into the back of the shop, where he would then do his very best to curl up and sleep some more. A few decades might do it, he considered, or longer. Actually, much longer. Crowley had taken a few naps that long (the damned thing could sulk and hold a grudge like nobody’s business, which had a way of making Aziraphale feel very bad and eventually always lead him to keep up with the plants and do all his paperwork for him while he was asleep) so Aziraphale figured this would do him good. It was the biological version of what Adam often referred to as “turning it off and turning it on again,” so he’d heard. If that was the chief advice Adam had to offer, it must be applicable to this case.

 

 

 

Crowley was SO very angry at first. Anger was natural to him- it was an emotion that started warm and grew hot, and he was a demon, so he knew hot. He also knew Aziraphale, but that wasn’t relevant at the moment because Aziraphale was on his Temporary Shitlist. Temporary was, of course, an important bit of this. He knew he wouldn’t be angry for very long at all. But when he got the call telling him that Aziraphale had gone and INJURED HIMSELF helping some poor sap falling from a window, he almost committed multiple counts of arson and some other, more minor felonies in the span of a few innocuous moments before gathering himself together and going,

“Shit, okay. I’ll be there in a flash.” 

So, being the demon he was, he was going about 90 through central London to the hospital. He’d gotten Aziraphale to have a flip phone, which was fun and about as modern as he was pretty sure he’d ever get in this millennia. Aziraphale never used it to text or even call Crowley, which always succeeded in pissing him off, but he’d managed to get Aziraphale to keep him in the contacts under emergency just in case. . . well, just in case emergencies happened. Which they had. He listed every curse word and every curse variation he could as he laid on the Bentley’s horn, pissed to no end that all these people decided to stand in the way of him going and helping his- well, Aziraphale. 

The Bentley was also rather agitated at Crowley as he parked it and stormed his way into the hospital, fixing his glasses and running agitated fingers through his hair before he remembered that he was in the presence of other people. He did a reaffirming check of his glasses, fixed his posture, and walked more calmly to the front desk and get walked in.

“Uhh, yea, you called about a certain Mr. Aziraphale, injured trying to catch a man out of a window? Kind of chubby, blonde, et cetera?” Crowley waved a highly dismissive hand and the lady nodded, understanding near-immediately. 

 

“Why can’t you just tell me what happened to the bloody idiot, he is my- well it’s complicated, he’s kind of a-a-errr, long-time friend situation type thing-” Crowley cut himself off as the nurse dodged all his questions. This irritated him. He just wanted to bring Aziraphale back to the bookshop and take care of the good-loving idiot until his body healed (and maybe kiss his face but who was counting that thought that was near immediately shoved somewhere dark with similar thoughts). The nurse only seemed pissed at him and continued to offer up answers clearly fed to her to deal with annoying senior citizens that harassed her instead of a man genuinely concerned about his goddamn angel- best friend- whatever he was. His over-600 year crush? No, bullshit, not that. Back in your box, emotion!

“Emotional distresssss, shmotional. . . shistress. It’s fine, he’s fine, just let me sign the papers or whatnot so he can leave. This place smells like old people and soap, I’m sure he hates it.” Crowley sniffed. 

Now, one would assume that, since Aziraphale, an angel hated hospitals, that Crowley would thrive there. He was, of course, a big spooky fan. But, Crowley hated them as much. Maybe more, on a deep level. The white halls, the feeling of being captive in an open space, the cold indifference of the staff. . . it all created a deep itchiness and burning in someplace around his shoulderblades and a steep emptiness in his stomach like someone ripped it all out and put concentrated nothingness in there.. He shivered a little and rubbed his shoulder gently. He’d get out of the sterile halls soon and into the open. He’d bring Aziraphale into someplace open and alive instead of this horrible mess. Like a park. Or Tadfield, they hadn’t gone out and seen the little buggers out in Tadfield in far too long. That was an open space he could get behind. 

“Mister Aziraphale? You have a visitor.” The nurse knocked on the door, and Crowley stuffed his hands in his pockets. Shit, maybe he should’ve grabbed flowers or such. Wasn’t that something cool to do? Like a nice gesture or whatnot. “He must be sleeping. We should let him rest.”

“Oh, fuck that.” Crowley insisted, now fed up. He pushed past her and opened the door to see. . .

An empty room. A stuffy, windless room with no Aziraphale. An IV drip was left neatly coiled and a hospital gown was left neatly folded, the sheets tucked in all kinds of proper. It reeked of a hospital. It reeked of that goddamn overly-clean smell and the lingering sense of a miracle right after it was done.

“Fucking shit!” He hissed, pretty literally. “Where the fuck is Aziraphale?” He turned on the woman, who looked nearly as surprised and afraid as Crowley felt. He was almost more angry now. He’d fucking LEFT?! What the hell was he supposed to do to take care of Aziraphale is the dumb prick kept just wandering off?

“I-I don’t know sir, it says on his file that he’s in this room, he was sleeping just earlier, I checked myself-” 

“Well obviously,” Crowley spat, removing his glasses, “someone didn’t fucking check well enough, did they?!” 

The woman was rightfully terrified. The full force of an angry man who looks like he doesn’t even have bones stooping over to direct his (strictly speaking) unholy rage towards you, with reptilian eyes nearly burning with hate is not something easily met with a straight face. This was a thought Crowley had an immense amount of anger knowing that Aziraphale would stand up to him but he WASN’T HERE TO SCOLD HIM OR STAND UP TO HIM AND TELL HIM TO STOP BOTHERING THE UNDERPAID WOMAN. 

“I-I’m sorry, sir-”

“Whatever. I have a fucking idiot to go find.” 

 

Crowley was, once again, speeding through central London with rage in his blood, even though he could feel the beginnings of fright poison his stomach. His chest was still burning in rage, but he was beginning to be worried. What if Heaven had figured out their scheme and had taken him to truly be executed this time? Or maybe Aziraphale had actually discoperated due to his wounds. He had no right to make Crowley worry the way he did. Crowley had saved his life so many times from trouble he’d gotten himself into, but Aziraphale had save Crowley so many times from himself. Aziraphale, Crowley thought, might be casting secret miracles on him to make him feel better. When Crowley woke up with the sensation of falling in his stomach, when he had scratched his back raw trying to get rid of the burning and the itching and the aching, when he felt cold all over no matter how much the heat was turned up, when he was just scared, he’d go to the bookshop. Sometimes even standing outside it helped more and more than anything. But if it was still bad, he could go inside, and find Aziraphale and just be near him for a bit. Talking, touching, anything. Even if Aziraphale was just reading and invited him to stay a bit, it would get rid of every hint of his troubles. It would warm him up, soothe his back, soothe his mind, and it’s like nothing ever happened. 

And every time, after he left, he worried that Aziraphale was too good for him, glance over his shoulder one more time, and sigh. 

And now, Crowley could feel that horrible penetrating cold on his shoulders. It wasn’t like a bitter winter cold. It clung to his and sunk through layers of muscles and grabbed all that he was, is, ever would be. It was horrible, and it was that kind of cold that followed him down from heaven. He believed it might be God’s disappointment, but if that were the case, the other demons would have it, wouldn’t they?

Either way, Crowley was trying his very best to find Aziraphale in all the usual places that the angel could or sometimes would hide. He couldn’t be in his bookshop, Crowley reasoned. If he’d run away from the hospital he wasn’t about to go to his workplace AND home. So he spent the day going to every cafe, small restaurant, cozy bar, park, bandstand, bus stop, general good place, and small used bookstore he could think of that Aziraphale might go to sulk. Getting in the Bentley after the last location he groaned loudly. He’d wasted a whole day, not a message from Aziraphale, not a hint of a hint of him. He was no longer angry, and just afraid. Afraid and drenched in that horrible cold feeling, which only made him more afraid. 

He drove back to his flat (at a responsible pace, which was always a sign that something was INCREDIBLY wrong with him), unhappy and, of course, scanning the streets for a fluffy-haired idiot with clothes and mannerisms that made him look like he stepped right out of the early 19th century. He didn’t see him, even though the streetlamps had turned on so it wasn’t even an in-between stage of light and dark anymore. He parked his car, eerily silent all the way with no grumbling about foolish parking, and trudged his way up the stairs, his mind too empty to even begin to think that he hadn’t even checked the damn bookstore.


	2. Communication is Important

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The night passed fitfully for both Aziraphale and Crowley. One demon, worried out of his mind for his friend, bathed in an ancient cold, and one angel, trying to close his eyes when he couldn't tell if they were open in the first place. This was somewhat of an issue, since one’s mood can drastically change based on the sleep one gets, and neither being got much in the way of sleep that would really count for much of anything. 
> 
> AKA 
> 
> They meet again, in less than favorable ways.

The night passed fitfully for both Aziraphale and Crowley. One demon, worried out of his mind for his friend, bathed in an ancient cold, and one angel, trying to close his eyes when he couldn't tell if they were open in the first place. This was somewhat of an issue, since one’s mood can drastically change based on the sleep one gets, and neither being got much in the way of sleep that would really count for much of anything. 

Aziraphale spent his morning (what he somewhat assumed was morning, if a very early version of it. He had no real way to tell other than a beginning of hustle and bustle outside of the shop) fretting about customers and how he wouldn’t be able to help them or navigate the space, because if he let himself try and be calm for a second, he knew he’d begin to work over the thoughts about his current situation and the inevitability that was Crowley finding out he was blind. He began to be rather jumpy, thinking that every little noise might be the bell on the door, though he might’ve even been imagining the noise to begin with. He was driving himself mad thinking of Crowley’s deliberate footsteps and his flashy entrances that involved saying something he thought of as witty. 

 

Crowley, on the other hand, shot bolt upright somewhere in the nine-to-noon area with the pressing realization that he hadn’t checked the damn bookshop. With a rather unnecessary amount of cussing in an unnecessary amount of languages, he flung himself from his bed and miracled himself dressed (there was no time to waste!) and nearly threw himself into the Bentley, still swearing wildly. He checked his watch (it was ten of ten), pissed at himself for not going to the shop in over 17 hours. That was an ABSURD amount of time for him to have just NOT gone to Aziraphale’s home. There was no appropriate excuse he could make for himself, though he was sure Aziraphale would forgive him in a hearbeat because of how much of a GOOD DAMN PERSON HE WAS, the stupid creature. One day, Crowley, grumbled to himself, Aziraphale would realize that he was undeserving of the constant forgiving and the gentleness and the positivity. And then. . . well, Crowley really hadn’t thought that far ahead. Crowley was rather sure he didn’t want to think that far ahead. 

Within minutes of a drive that really should’ve taken much more time, Crowley was parking the car and getting out and trying to be a tad bit calmer than he was. He was freaking the hell out, of course, but he was going to pretend that he wasn’t, because that was what he was going to do. 

 

He opened the door, listening to the little bell announce his presence as he drank in the feeling of the shop. It felt a tad more empty than it normally did, which was not a good feeling, but he wasn’t about to just turn around. He had to find Aziraphale. 

“Please leave, we’re closed for today. . .” A gentle voice floated out from the back.

Oh, the angel SO was not pulling customer service on him TODAY of all fucking days. 

Crowley nearly stormed into the back room, inhaling to say something rude, until he saw Aziraphale whip around. 

The first thing Crowley noticed were the thick bandages. 

The second thing Crowley noticed was the fear on the angel’s face that turned into anger as the angel snapped, 

“I asked you to leave, didn’t I?” 

“Angel, I-” 

“Oh. Er, Crowley, yes, hello, em-” Aziraphale ducked his head worriedly, and Crowley could not figure out why. 

“The hell’s wrong with your eyes?” Crowley asked, faking a tone that he might’ve, on a normal occasion, used to ask if he’d gotten a new jacket, or perhaps combed his hair a different way. His voice broke, just a little, at the beginning- something so small that no person not deeply familiar to him would ever be able to pick it up. Aziraphale, having known him for over six millennia, most certainly could, but there was no harm in both of them pretending he couldn’t.

“Nothing. It’s fine.Tickety-boo-” Azirapahle began, faking a tone that might, on some other occasion, be convincing.

“You always say that when something is wrong.” Crowley cut him off, rolling his eyes. 

“I suppose the bandage is a bit much.” Aziraphale concurred softly. 

“A bit mu- a bit much? You look like you’re the star of your own tragedy film, or- or a horror. . . guy.” Crowley gestured wildly. 

“Do I?” Aziraphale asked absentmindedly. He was fiddling with his fingers. 

“Yeah, yeah. Anyways, what happened?” 

“Nothing much.” Aziraphale answer, snapping his head up to where he thought Crowley might be standing. In all reality, Crowley was now sitting down across from Aziraphale, on the edge of the overstuffed couch that he kept in the back along with some armchairs and recliners and the like. 

“Oh my god.” Crowley breathed. 

“What? What is it?” The angel asked, beginning to let loose the panic he’d been trying really hard to keep contained. 

“You’re blind as a bat right now, aren’t you?” 

“No! I can see perfectly fine, Crowley, I-”

“I’m over here. You’ve been talking to air.” Crowley waved, even though he knew that was not helping whatsoever. 

“Where?” 

“I’m going to touch your hand.” Crowley warned before leaning over the cluttered coffee table and grabbing Aziraphale’s hand. Despite the warning, Aziraphale still flinched at the sudden feeling of somebody’s hand on his. Though he knew it was just Crowley, he drew his hand away after correcting where he was angling his head. Crowley sat back down, biting his lip. 

“What happened?” Crowley asked, once again.He might get half of an answer if he asked enough times. 

“It was an accident. I was trying to help somebody, and some glass got in my eye, and the next thing I knew I was in the hospital and I couldn’t see.” Aziraphale was making that expression, all kinds of worried and unhappy. The kind of expression that showed Crowley that, right now, Aziraphale’s mind was running a million miles an hour and showed no sign of slowing. “I’m awfully sorry-” 

“Hold on, Angel, hold on. Why are you apologizing?” Crowley cut him off, frowning at the sudden turn in words. 

“. . . Because I’m not strong anymore.”

“What has that ever meant?” Crowley began to feel afraid again. Things were Different, in a way that deserved the capital letter. It did not mean that everything was different, but in this nook, hidden away from the world, everything felt incorrect, which made the rest of the world wrong by default. Things being Different had been among Crowley’s biggest fears, above even the scariest of things. The idea that Aziraphale might see him differently, or simply lose interest in him, made him anxious to his core. That was the kind of fear that gets pushed into a dark corner and only brought back in occasions that were fueled by paranoia and mind-altering substances. 

Drinking alone was not Crowley’s favorite habit for fear of these kinds of fears returning. 

“I’ve always been strong in front of you. I never- well not much- I never cried in front of you, or- or got morbidly injured, I was always proper, but I’m afraid I’m a bit of a mess now.” 

“Angel. . .” Crowley nearly whined. 

“I’ve barely even done anything in a whole day. It’s no state for me to be in, but I just- I can’t-” Aziraphale, in a gesture very unlike himself, pulled his knees up to his chest and put his heels on the edge of his seat. For a second, Crowley saw through the halfhearted miracle Aziraphale had put up. At the moment, he wasn’t truly dressed in his usual regalia, and instead in a sweater vest and long-sleeved t shirt, and a pair of sweatpants that were a size or two too large for him. Crowley’s heart felt like it cracked a little more with every minute in the back room of his angel’s bookstore. “I’m so afraid, Crowley.” 

 

Those words, spoken weaker and softer than anything, hurt Crowley on an emotional level. It brought back images of a darkened hole, an impact crater and a shattered halo. It felt like cold so harsh it burnt and wings that cried in the pain of shattered bones and not-quite-healed joints, it felt like a new place where everything was just beginning, and it felt like someone sucked the air from him without care. Crying, not to anything near you, but to anything that was listening: I’m afraid. I’m afraid and I don’t know if I’ll ever be okay again. 

“Hey, Hey, angel, don’t worry. We’ll get through this. We got through- we got through the world wars, right? And- and, um, we made it through the Titanic sinking. We can get through this, too.” Crowley grabbed for the right thing to say. 

“Crowley, I would hate to offend you, but this is not a “we” situation.” Aziraphale very nearly snapped, which caught Crowley off guard. “Last I checked, both of your eyes were functioning. You didn’t wake up in the hospital full of drugs. You aren’t the one who just didn’t eat for far too long. This is not something we get through together.” 

“Well, I-I-uh, I’m here for you?” Crowley was taken aback, Aziraphale’s sudden change in attitude throwing him off. This wasn’t a normal response, though he supposed this wasn’t at all a normal situation. He’d never had to deal with a major injury like this, on either of the immortal beings. Neither had ever truly hurt themselves in a way that required much in the way of intense care- Crowley, being the way he was, could end up with a sprain or the such on occasion, but never often or severe enough to warrant a trip to the hospital. They’d been to them a few times- miracles can happen in a hospital, after all- just never as patients. He didn’t know how to handle this. 

“Yes, thank you. Great thing I have a demon here for me. Let me rejoice!” Aziraphale sniffed, tossing his hands up in a little expression. 

“Angel, I know this must be hard on you, but-” 

“Crowley, you have no fucking- er, no idea.” Aziraphale nearly caught himself, but too late: he’d snapped at Crowley entirely. Lost his temper in a way more violent than he normally allowed himself. It had been petty. It had been . . . mean. 

Crowley froze. What else could he do? He’d pissed off Aziraphale a lot in the last 6000 years, but. . . Aziraphale had never sounded so unhappy, genuinely bitter. Aziraphale was always the first to extend the olive branch, to apologize and talk things over. Crowley didn’t know what he was supposed to do, so he just nodded slowly. 

“Alright. Yeah, alright. Okay. Well, since you don’t want the help of a demon,” Crowley stood up with a grunt so Aziraphale would know he was leaving, “I guess I’ll just be leaving.”

Crowley saw Aziraphale stiffen up, so startled by this that he dropped his miracle that made his sweatervest seem fancy. 

“When do you plan on coming back?” 

“Maybe a few days, maybe a few decades, I don’t know.” Shrugged the demon, still putting up the kind of screen that never worked on Aziraphale. 

“Decades?” Aziraphale repeated, his mouth going dry and his stomach dropping out from under him. 

“I don’t know. I’ll be back. I just need a bit.” 

“Crowley-” 

“See you around, Aziraphale.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> whoomph sneak dropping this chapter
> 
> it's three am where I am guys aksjfhasfdajdbf


	3. Snakes and Phone Calls

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Aziraphale was left with an empty room and an empty torso. The door crashed closed, making Aziraphale flinch. 
> 
> God, he hadn’t meant to make Crowley angry. The feeling of saying something like that for no reason, the feeling of anger that started warm and grew hot until you made something out of it, that was something Aziraphale was hardly used to, and genuinely terrified of.
> 
> AKA 
> 
> The Fallout

Aziraphale was left with an empty room and an empty torso. The door crashed closed, making Aziraphale flinch. 

God, he hadn’t meant to make Crowley angry. The feeling of saying something like that for no reason, the feeling of anger that started warm and grew hot until you made something out of it, that was something Aziraphale was hardly used to, and genuinely terrified of. Reflecting on his actions, he drew in a breath and realized that it didn’t quite reach his head correctly, making him dizzy as he gasped to find air. He hated this feeling, this guilt, this anxiety. Normally, these flashes of anxiety would fade after a deep breath in, though this one persisted. He took in air, breathing into his stomach like he knew could help, but as he exhaled, he was still left dizzy. He shuddered and curled himself closer to himself, hoping that Crowley might come back. 

 

Crowley, however, was sitting outside of the bookshop in his idling car, which was playing some lonesome violin solos because of its twisted sense of humor. His head on the steering wheel, he had the heat turned high enough to give a normal human heatstroke. He knew he should be in there. Apologizing. Helping. Something. 

He knew Aziraphale had to be frightened- more than that, likely- but he was scared too. He knew it was fucking selfish, but he was busy hating himself for separate reasons to get around to calling himself a selfish bastard. He was so miserable, for that fact, that he could feel himself shrinking slowly, his limbs smoothing into his body as scales formed from skin, his entire body slowly metamorphosing into the snake that had tempted Eve in Eden. By the time he noticed (or, rather, cared), he was a long coil of muscle under scales. He sighed, as much as a snake can sigh, and coiled in on himself a bit tighter. Nothing like a massive snake in the car in the middle of London outside of an odd bookshop that was most often closed but commonly run by a very odd little man. As if that wasn’t enough weird already without the damn snake.

Crowley sat his chin on the windowsill and stared out at the bookstore and the people wandering by. He was glad nobody tried to look into the Bentley, which was now playing snake-themed songs. He glared at the radio, but made no moves to try and change it. The Bentley would just get grumpy if he did. With an agitated flick of his tongue, he slithered into the backseat and decided to take a goddamn nap in the afternoon sun that was filtering through. 

 

 

Hours ticked by, no matter where you were on earth. There was, of course, no escape from the passage of time, but this detail is only useful to describe the passage of time from the perspective of an outsider. Hours rolled in and out with things staying, in a way, the same as the one before: Crowley curled in his back seat in the form of a snake and Aziraphale sitting in the back of the bookshop that now held no purpose to him. 

Aziraphale fell farther into despair as the inescapable march of time stampeded by, bringing to him more and more realizations of his current situation. He was unable to read his books, unable to walk around without fear of injuring himself, unable to see who walked in the door, unable to tell night from day. . . it was so disorienting, and not half as much depressing. He wanted to just be able to miracle it better, but. . . 

“Alright, Aziraphale.” God had spoken. “We’re giving you a very important job today. Do you know what that is?”

“Oh, am I getting a job?” He’d beamed at the ray of light that had shined on him while he was busy creating odds and ends in Heaven. 

“Since the World is starting today, we’re going to need a nice, reliable angel to guard Eden and make sure the Humans do their best.” God has explained. “We’re going to give you a special body so you look like the humans, but make sure you’re not seen- Adam and Eve are the only two humans in the world.”

“. . . You’re picking me to guard the humans in Eden?” Aziraphale lit up and stood up, dusting off his knees that didn’t exist yet. “Oh, thank you!”

“Yes. Gabriel, please explain his responsibilities to him. I must leave.” God summoned the higher-ranking angel and the ray of light disappeared, leaving a beaming Aziraphale with his superior. 

“Alright, so making a human vessel for us isn’t easy.” Gabriel said. “The body’s already down there, near where you’ll be keeping watch. It’s impossible to affect with magic unless it’s a transportation spell, et cetera, just in case. . . you know. . . the opposition decides to rear the ol’ horns, right?” Gabriel made a laugh, one that was so superficial it made Aziraphale’s skin crawl with the dishonesty. 

“R-right. Sounds wonderful!” Aziraphale had agreed, and listened to Gabriel tell him all of his duties with an eager ear.

 

Aziraphale now cursed such good intentions. It made sense- a group of bitter Fallen Angels with powers like the angles might start to try and hurt their field angels, but the oversight in trying to make it so that Aziraphale could heal himself was absurd. 

Aziraphale would heal from any injury that a human might be able to heal from a bit faster than average, but that was about it, and he doubted going blind would be curable. 

“Stupid Gabriel. Or whoever made that damned decision.” He grumbled to himself, tucking himself a little bit tighter into a ball. “Stupid Crowley, too.” He added for good measure. No reason in particular except that he was making him sad now, and the events earlier were still eating him with guilt. How dare he have snapped at Crowley? Crowley had just wanted to help, after all. He’d been trying his best- Aziraphale should’ve been able to tell just by the fact that he hadn’t run as soon as things got hard. He hadn’t even tried to joke it off- a classic Crowley move.

How had Aziraphale even been able to be so mean? He was normally so polite to everyone, but he was being such a bitch lately. The thought of how rude he’d been turned his stomach. He might’ve been basically disowned by Heaven- they had tried to kill him, after all- but that didn’t mean he wasn't an angel. He was supposed to be good and nice and polite and virtuous. Not all mean and jealous like he’d been as of the past few hours, especially to his only true friend. He let out a soft, self-hating groan. There was no way he could find Crowley the way he was so he could apologise. He really wanted to, but he was afraid he’d get run over or hit someone by accident, or get into another accident. Could he use a miracle to find him? No, probably not. Maybe call him? Yeah, that might work. Aziraphale slowly stood up and stuck his hands out in front of him, starting at his knees so that he wouldn’t trip over anything at all. He slowly navigated to his phone and took a few minutes feeling it out, finding the vaguely raised numbers on the dial.

Trying to find what the numbers he was touching was proving more and more difficult, and if he hadn’t lived next to his telephone for most of his current life, it might’ve been impossible. 

He’d spent countless minutes dialing Crowley’s number only, regardless of any others, so he could punch in Crowley’s mobile number in a short instance. It hardly mattered whether he could see or not- he often did it without looking anyways, often reading a paper or a book or stirring a hot cocoa, which would take more of his attention until Crowley’s voice answered, often with a faked amount of frustration that both beings saw through in an instant. 

Though, the small and ever-worrying voice in the back of his head spoke to say that maybe Crowley was so upset with him that he just wouldn’t pick up. Or maybe something had happened over the few hours he’d spent trying his hardest not to sob too hard. But, as Aziraphale had to learn how to push the doubt of the Great Plan and God herself down deep, he pushed the thoughts of Crowley as something that needed protecting or someone that he loved dearly down into somewhere he would never think of it again and tried thinking of him as a customer he’d quite rudely shortchanged somehow. This helped as he tried to steady his voice for the conversation, as well as his mind.

The telephone rang, rang, rang, rang, rang. . . Aziraphale began to feel as if his mind got farther away from his head with every ring. . . it rang, rang, rang, until. . .

“This is Anthony J. Crowley, you know what to do, do it with style. . .” 

For a hopeful second, Aziraphale had thought he’d picked up. He let the voicemail cycle through with Crowley’s insufferable voice playing over tinny speakers until the message tone played, and he sighed. 

“Crowley, I’m so terribly sorry.” He began, and then paused. “I’m not sure what else to say.” He paused again. “I’m sorry for calling and bothering you. Feel free to call me back when you’re. . . well, when you’re quite prepared.” The final pause. “Goodnight.” 

He placed his phone back on the hook (with a moment of struggle to get it to stay), and let out a shaky sigh. He’d done it, he’d called and left a message without crying outright. It was buring at the back of his throat while anxiety played in his stomach, but he hadn’t cried on the phone which was. . . good. Positives, he thought. Positives.

 

 

Crowley glared at his phone as it rang, flicking his tongue out it with some frustration at it disturbing his sleep. From the back seat, and as a snake, he couldn’t really read the screen. Probably some telemarketer, trying to fish his credit card numbers from him if he was above the age of 60 and a mortal (he was only one of those things.). He ignored it, and sat his head back on the seat, ready for another round of sleep before he heard Aziraphale’s voice. 

“. . .terribly sorry. . .” 

Oh, this was the worst day ever, easily, since Rome.

He pulled himself up into the driver’s seat again and slowly worked himself around the car door handle and worked his way outside at somewhat of a sluggish pace. The foot traffic just stepped right over him as he slithered with purpose (and an exaggerated sway of where his hips would be aproximately be) to the door, which he used his nose to push the door open (the bell rang softly and this notified him that his prescence was known) and he began winding his way through the stakes of books and mazes of bookshelves that were all packed to the top with first-editions and prophecies. Aziraphale’s voice called from the back, informing him that they were closed, but Crowley was too busy on his mission to come back to his angel to be deterred. He didn’t know how long or what size he was at the moment, but eitehr way he was working, steadily towards the back of the shop with the determination of. . . well, something really determined. 

He got to the door and puzzled for a moment about how to get in before realizing he had a human form. He could’ve smacked himself as he slowly transformed back into a human and opened the door.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> SDOIFHJSKDBGJSLKDF HERE I AM


	4. Hospitals and Miracles

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “So, did you stick around long enough to talk to the doctor?” Crowley asked, sitting acrost from him. He didn’t need to adjust into his normal position (taking up as much room as physically possible in order to look bigger and more intimidating), since Aziraphale couldn’t see anyways, but he did. It didn’t make him feel any better. 
> 
> “Unfortunately not- though I really should ask him. I’m just a little afraid to leave the house, is all.” Aziraphale pouted softly. Even though he’d been “staring” at his lap, he was still making that face. Crowley couldn’t resist that face- ever since Edinborough, maybe even earlier. Aziraphale would make that face and Crowley would do anything for him, even if it would be the end of him. 
> 
> AKA
> 
> Crowley is suckered into running some errands.

“Azzzziraphale!!” He exclaimed. “Angel!” he gasped. “I’m so sorry I missed your call, I was a snake and I was sleeping and- anyway, I’m so sssssorry.” he coughed gently and flicked his tongue, which had still been forked. He changed it into a human tongue. 

“Crowley, my goodness- Aziraphale whipped around. 

“I’m sssorry.” 

“It’s okay, I forgive you, whatever you’re talking about.” Aziraphale frowned, beginning to work his way over to Crowley which his hands out once again. 

“Oh, no, sssstay where you are, I’ll come to you.” Crowley insisted, weaving through the furniture as Aziraphale picked up his arms in surprise, beginning to argue the opposite as he continued to walk forward. He tripped, rather unsurprisingly, over an end table, sending himself careening into Crowley, who fell over onto the floor. Had Crowley had time to brace himself for Aziraphale toppling into him, he might’ve been able to support him. However, neither men quite predicted the amount of falling over happening in such a short amount of time. Aziraphale remained silent for a moment, his cheek pressing to Crowley’s chest and almost all of his weight on him. 

“. . . Oh, I’m sorry.” He sat up, dusting himself off and gently making his way off of Crowley. 

“No, it was alright. You didn’t try to.” Crowley mumbled, thanking anybody listening that Aziraphale couldn’t see his entire face turning the color of his hair. Crowley popped up and gently helped Aziraphale to his feet. “You want me to take you to the sofa again?”

“I can get around without help,” he huffed. “But yes, please.”

Crowley slowly guided Aziraphale to the couch, tugging the angel gently and letting him know when he was there. 

“Alright, you can sit. Try not to fall over this time, though.”

“Oh, shut up,” Aziraphale pouted, but he sat. Crowley didn’t like the idea of Aziraphale depending on him- he wasn’t a dependable person. 

“So, did you stick around long enough to talk to the doctor?” Crowley asked, sitting acrost from him. He didn’t need to adjust into his normal position (taking up as much room as physically possible in order to look bigger and more intimidating), since Aziraphale couldn’t see anyways, but he did. It didn’t make him feel any better. 

“Unfortunately not- though I really should ask him. I’m just a little afraid to leave the house, is all.” Aziraphale pouted softly. Even though he’d been “staring” at his lap, he was still making that face. Crowley couldn’t resist that face- ever since Edinborough, maybe even earlier. Aziraphale would make that face and Crowley would do anything for him, even if it would be the end of him. 

 

“Ugh, do you want me to go talk to him for you?” 

 

“Oh, that would be amazing, would you?” Aziraphale smiled. 

“Ugh, maybe. . .maybe later, yeah?” Crowley whined, throwing his head back.

“No, I think it should be before he closes, right? Quicker the better.” 

“Alright! Fine. I’ll be right back, christ.” He grumbled, standing up. He half-jogged, half-sauntered off to the car, getting in and trying very hard to remember just about where Aziraphale had been admitted on the day of his accident. 

Getting there was half the issue- getting in would be annoying as well. Of course, it was easy enough just to slip in like he belonged, but he ALSO needed to find Aziraphale’s doctor, and would most likely be using a miracle to make him talk about if he was going to make a full recovery or not. 

God, he had better be making a full recovery. 

No matter what the result was, Crowley was still determined in his mission, marching through the halls to find Aziraphale’s abandoned room and the doctor that had treated him directly after accident. 

Room 155. . . it was so hard to navigate the damn halls of that place. He tugged his blazer closer to himself to combat the gross feeling of the hospital but it was almost no use to do so. 

He got there, of course, having asked a nurse and pushed past her into the elevator, but it was a matter of pride at first, making him dillydally around a sign for far too long. Either way, he got to the damn room despite the horrible hospital feeling and pride-wrecking asking for directions and looked for the paperwork, which was somewhat the worst thing he had to do. The feeling of the gross hospital chemicals on his hands made him supremely uncomfortable, and to make matters worse, he could feel someone despairing in the room next to Aziraphale’s. Someone must’ve just gotten some horrible news, he had to guess. He almost wanted to pop over, but he wasn’t even sure he could help. He shook himself. Concentrate, Crowley, you’re here for a damn reason, not just to do miracles. He picked up the clipboard on the end of the bed and skimmed it, trying to avoid the talk about shrapnel and corneas and piercing. It gave Crowley a bad image of what had happened to Aziraphale in the accident. 

“Alright Doctor Geering, time to find out just what’s happening to my best friend.” 

As he opened the door, he heard crying. And he stopped could, because it wasn’t some old lady finding out that her time was up soon, it was a young lady. A very young lady.

He sighed, knowing he was a sucker as he knocked on the door. 

“Care for some company?” He asked gently. 

“Come in.” The voice an older woman spoke, and Crowley stepped in slowly. He walked in to see flowers, several vases of them, dotting the side tables next to a woman’s bed. She looked older- perhaps 40, going towards 50, but certainly not ready to leave. Black curls sitting around her shoulders, dark skin and a warm smile that was tired. 

And a young girl, somewhere from 16 to 20, sitting in a chair dragged up to her bedside, mascara running down her cheeks, sobs racking her entire body. 

“If it’s not too sensitive. . .” He asked pulling up a chair. “. . . What’s happened?” 

“The doctors came with some news, unfortunately.” The older woman sighed. 

“Mum’s not going to make it,” The younger girl cried, doubling over in what appeared to be pain. 

“No, that’s not what he said, dear. I might still make it to fight another day.” The woman insisted. 

“He said-” 

“I know what he said, baby. It’s okay. Your dad can-”

“I haven’t seen my dad in years, Mom!” She spat. 

“Whoa, whoa, whoa.” Crowley frowned. “Slow down there. What’s wrong with you?” He asked, jerking his chin at the woman. 

“Cancer. In the lungs I’m afraid.” She sighed. “Nasty business, but we all leave this earth one way or another. Doctor gave me a few weeks unless these final rounds of chemo do the trick.” 

“Oh, that’s a shame.” Crowley frowned, waving his hands a little excessively, working a miracle slowly and blessing the woman, shrinking her tumors and killing the cancerous cells, healing her to his ability. “Are you. . . you know, okay?” 

“I’m a bit scared, but. . . I lived a good life, you know? Met a nice man, had a beautiful daughter,” she looked at her daughter with a smile as the daughter sniffed and clung to her hand. “I was as kind as I could be. I had my bad days, but I still like to think I was the best version of me I could have been, right? That’s what counts.” 

“Mom, I need you not to leave.” The daughter repeated in a strained voice. “I need you to be okay.” 

“Oh, things work out in one way or another, sweetheart.” Crowley smiled. “It’s just a matter of time.” 

Both the woman and the girl looked at him skeptically as he got up. 

“Well, I hope your evening goes nicely, I’ll be going. I need to talk to a doctor about the status of a certain angel of mine.” He Waved and walked out, deciding almost immediately not to tell Aziraphale about his little blessing there. 

 

The doctor was easier to find than her file had been. He knocked on her office door, she called him in, he walked in and snapped his fingers. She went rigid. 

“Now, you recently treated a man named Aziraphale for an accident involving glass and eyes, is that right?” He asked, strolling around her leisurely.

“Yes.” She replied. 

“Now, I only want to know a few things about that man.” Crowley began. “First of all: will he ever see again?” 

“It might be so.” She replied. “I’m a little doubtful, but it’s possible.” 

“Alright, here’s the followup. Does he need extensive treatment or prescriptions?” 

“Yes, I had him scheduled to take antibiotics and painkillers, and a few other things.” The doctor replied. 

“Where can I get that script filled?” 

“Pharmacy, whichever one he goes to the most often.” 

“Alrighty. You’re going to turn around and make that happen for me, alright?” He asked, a soaring feeling in his chest. 

Aziraphale would see again. He knew he would, he couldn’t imagine a world where he couldn’t. Angels found a way to persist through most difficult situations, as did demons, since they were from the same stock. Aziraphale, he was confident, would be alright. It would just take the prescriptions at the scheduled times of day and a bit of help, and he was sure it would be all okay. He snapped his fingers and the doctor set about making her phone calls and writing her notes, giving him the needed paperwork and the address to pick it up, where it would be ready rather soon. She instructed him to have Aziraphale just take a regular dosage even thought he’d missed the other two periods. She said it wouldn’t do much good, and Crowley thanked her (Damn aziraphale for rubbing off on him), and he left, getting back in the Bentley and grumbling as he was forced to go to yet another place for his stupid angel. 

The pharmacy, to be perfectly frank, wasn’t that far away. It took him only a few minutes driving in his always-chaotic way, but it wouldn’t have taken him all that long if he’d actually obeyed the laws of traffic in London. He parked his car and got out, grumbling still about the fact that he wasn’t an errand boy or some idiot that just WENT places for someone when they asked. 

But of course, in minutes, he was walking back in and out to the car to ride to the bookshop, a bag of pills in hand and some amount of trepidation. He was now prepared to become a snake and just hibernate for the next few decades until Aziraphale could see again. But, still, he was prepared to make Aziraphale feel as goddamn LOVED and SUPPORTED as he COULD. It was his mission.


	5. Home and Happy

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Crowley kicked over a table.
> 
> AKA
> 
> I don't really have a summary for this one lol

“Angel, I’m back.” He called out, open the bookshop door. He turned the sign to closed for Aziraphale, as well, deciding that being walked in on while being ~nice~ might be one of the most embarrassing things to happen to him in a very long time. A muffled answer came from behind the door and Crowley sighed long-sufferingly.

He opened the door to the back room. “I said I’m back, angel.” 

“Oh, thank goodness. I missed you.” Aziraphale groaned, stretching from the couch and yawning. He’d been dozing off before Crowley returned.

“Oh, you did?” Crowley sounded smooth, but his face was red. 

“Did what?” Aziraphale blinked. 

“. . . Nevermind.” 

“Alright.” Aziraphale sat up all the way. “How did it go?” 

“Pretty well. You’re going to be fine, by the way. I picked up your antibiotics, I think you’re supposed to uuuuuuuuuh, take one every. . . some amount of time, I think.” Crowley paused, trying to read the pill bottles. “Anyways, you’re supposed to take these and your eyes should probably go back to working like normal.”

“Oh! Oh, that’s amazing, Crowley, oh my goodness!” Aziraphale clapped, relief racking his body. He let out a shuddering sigh, acting like he might cry. Crowley saw him nearly collapse upon himself, a gasp in his mouth. 

“Hey, don’t cry, don’t cry-” Crolwey panicked. 

“I’m not, I won’t- I just, oh, dear boy, I was so afraid I would never. . . never see again.” Aziraphale was grinning to himself, staring into his lap as he was unsure where Crowley was in the room. “I thought I would never see your face- or, or read a book, or anything, of course. I wasn’t just upset because I wouldn’t- oh, you know what I mean, don’t you?”

“. . . Yeah, of course.” Crowley nodded, shaking himself out of the vague daze he was in. Aziraphale smiling was good. Very, very good. And. . . Aziraphale’s first problem with blindness that he thought to mention was that he couldn’t see Crowley’s face. That was something to think about. 

Or to obsessively not think about, either way. 

“Anyways, could you help me take my medicine? I obviously can’t read the prescription. Or get a glass of water. . .” Aziraphale made the Face again, and Crowley groaned softly. Aziraphale continued to make the face, at him now, as he had found out about where he’d been standing. 

“Alright. I’ll. . . figure that out.” Crowley grumbed, wandering to the kitchenet to get Aziraphale a glass of water. 

“Oh, thank you dear boy.” Sighed the angel, relaxing into the couch. He was spoiled, entirely. But he believed that, just until his eyesight returned, he as a touch entitled to be spoiled. Just until his eyesight returned. 

“Yeah, yeah, just don’t go calling me kind or something like that.” Grumbled the demon, rooting around. 

It took him a rather long time to get all the correct pills and the water situated. Or, rather, it felt like a long time. Longer than an occult being should need to take to get a simple set of prescription drugs with a simple set of instructions sorted into doses for the evening and nights of the next week or so. Crowley was permanently distracted by Aziraphale’s. . . being, really. But he got them all sorted determinedly, and helped Aziraphale keep a hold of the pills (it would be rather terrible if he lost any in the couch). This required a lot of hand touching, and Crowley- being rather touchstarved over the course of his life- thanked whoever was listening that Aziraphale couldn’t see the red on his face. 

“I apologise, Crowley. That was rather inconvenient.” Aziraphale sighed. “Also, pills are rather. . . offensive to the throat, I find.”

“Yeah, they’re pretty shit.” Crowley agreed, picking himself off the couch and moving to his relatively safe chair, where he was attempting to hide himself. This was entirely unnecessary to his knowledge, but he was worried that the heat coming off his face might alert his angelic counterpart of exactly how much he wanted to just touch him. He didn’t need much more than to hold hands, to sit knee-to-knee. To be near him, but he was afraid that Aziraphale might find out that Crowley really was a despicable creature in his own perception. Crowley didn’t think he was really affecting the human race in the nefarious, evil-cackle way that hell had wanted him to, but he knew he was unforgivable. He was thrown out of heaven, and here was Aziraphale, Principality, Angel, kind and affectionate and forgiving and all that an angel was meant to be. Aziraphale was so good and forgiving, and Crowley couldn’t fathom why on earth or in the celestial plane Aziraphale would ever choose to even be around him. 

He was so terrified of Aziraphale finally coming to his senses. He’d almost died because they’d been friends. It scared Crowley that Aziraphale still cared enough to be around, even after seeing hell. 

“Now, how did you know?” Aziraphale frowned. 

“I’ve experienced the earth,” Crowley shot back, a little defensively, and Aziraphale backed off. 

“Alright. Well, I’ll be glad to stop taking them when my eyesight comes back. . .” He trailed off with a smile. His eyesight was coming back, after all! This was exciting. He’d been bemoaning his life all this time, but his eyesight was coming back after all. 

“It’s probably the best thing ever, you know. To hear that sort of thing.” Crowley speculated. 

“It’s rather wonderful, yes.” Aziraphale agreed, smiling. Radiant was the only word Crowley could think of as he stared, really and truly stared at the angel. “I. . . do apologize that I’m inconveniencing you, though.”

“What do you mean?” Crowley frowned. 

“I need help like this, and all. . . oh, it’s quite a bother.” He sighed, fiddling with his hands. 

“Oh, no, don’t feel bad. I’m volunteering to help.” Crowley replied before actually checking himself. “I mean- someone’s gotta keep you from hurting yourself, you clumsy bastard.” 

“Mmmmhm. Of course, dear boy.” Aziraphale smiled. “I’ll try not to feel too bad,” He was so fond of Crowley, and it was a shame he could do little about it this impaired. . . 

“Good, cause this isn’t a nice thing. It’s really quite devious.” 

“I’m sure it is, dear.” 

“It’s, quite possibly, the-”

“Crowley, I believe you, you can calm down.” 

“. . .Alright.” He obeyed, wiggling into the chair more comfortably.

 

A few days passed, Crowley spending his time in the bookshop, helping Aziraphale around the shop and helping to shoo customers away, making sure Aziraphale didn’t die of boredom while awaiting the return of his eyesight. It was full of red faces, ditched glasses, and a lot of prevent Aziraphale from mentioning wine. He wasn’t entirely sure if the drugs that the doctor had Aziraphale on would react well to alcohol. They’d drink once Aziraphale could see again, he promised. He promised a lot of things, of course, but not all of them were true. That one would have to be true, because Crowley was unsure if he’d be able to really handle the idea of not drinking around Aziraphale. 

And days went, and days came, and Crowley may or may not have cracked into the wine on this particular night, without telling Aziraphale. 

“Why do we even keep that blindfold on you, angel?” He asked, after the usual stretches of comfortable silence. 

“I suppose it must serve a purpose.” Replied the angel serenely. 

“I miss looking you in the eye, I think.” Crowley proclaimed, sitting up. 

“Well. . . then, why don’t we try taking it off? I doubt the wounds are still open.” Aziraphale smiled. 

“Oh, alright. Want help?” Crowley lurched forward in his chair, now resting his pointy elbows on his equally pointy knees. 

“That would be nice.” Aziraphale didn’t need help taking off the blindfold. Aziraphale knew that, but. . . 

“Alright.” Crowley made his way over, making an intense effort to not fall over, which was. . . okay. He managed. “I’m gonna touch you now.” 

“That’s quite alright.” He replied, relaxed. 

Crowley’s hands slowly traced up Aziraphale’s face, his eyes fixed on the bandage and breath being held even though it didn’t need to be. He hooked his fingers around the bandage and slowly began lifting the bandage up, taking great care to be so gentle, with such soft touches. Aziraphale’s eyes were closed, the eyelids fluttering slightly. As Crowley removed the blindfold fully, Aziraphale opened his eyes, blinking them against the light-

Wait, he wouldn’t need fucking blink if he was blind. 

“Oh, hello dear boy.” He smiled, the sight of the ginger making him happy. 

“You can SEE?!?” He nearly screamed, jumping back. 

“It appears I can.” Aziraphale hummed, looking around. 

Crowley kicked over a table.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Blease don't kill me ljksdfnlkasbdflskdjf

**Author's Note:**

> I wrote a big chapter to kick it off but please leave feedback if you can, I really appreciate you even taking the time to read it!!


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